


The Cowboy Song

by Subtleillusionist201



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Adoption, Character Death, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Personalities, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtleillusionist201/pseuds/Subtleillusionist201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dante and his alter ego, Tony Redgrave, express their feelings in a therapy session and struggle to understand Dante's motives when he attempted the unthinkable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [DID You](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/56104) by Laryna6. 



> This is not necessarily an AU piece, but could be taken as such.
> 
> Inspired by Faith No More's "The Cowboy Song." Once upon a time, I read "DID You" by: Laryna6 and it introduced the idea that maybe Dante may have DID among other mental illnesses. I wanted to develop that premise with Tony being the alter and the primary one venting. Sadly, there is almost nothing written about Tony out there in fan fiction land and I hope to someday change that.
> 
> A special thanks goes out to Shadow-of-Wolf and Mike Brown for helping me to convert this from a senior seminar project to a fan fiction and to anyone who lent me some comments, kudos, and faves when this story was posted on DA and FanFiction.

Part I

A middle aged man sat in his plush, leather office chair. He produced a handkerchief from an inner breast pocket in his suit jacket. He shook out the cloth, giving an audible snap when he did. He spent a moment fiddling with his glasses, wiping away a speck on his lens. He placed his spectacles on his face once again, adjusting and readjusting them until they sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. He tucked away the handkerchief before he brought his eyes up to acknowledge the presence of the young man who sat a mere five feet from him.

He set a voice recorder on a coffee table before him. He pressed a couple of buttons before speaking. “Dr. Alois Rhinefeld. This is session eight and day fifteen with patient, Dante Sparda. Good evening, Dante.”

The young man had taken up a comfortable position on a corduroy sofa. His arms stretched across the back of the couch and his left ankle hooked across his right knee. His fingers drummed across the surface. Impatience crept into his facial expression, but he continued to feign indifference.

“No. No, Doc, take your time. I am quite used to being ignored. It’s not like you believe in this sort of thing anyhow.”

The older man cleared his throat. “Believe in what?”

“Oh, Dr. Rhinefeld, you mean to tell me that with all your fancy degrees you can’t put two and two together? Tch. I’m disappointed.” The young man stood and paced the room, stopping to read the framed certificates on the wall. “Yale, Columbia…” He gave an impressed whistle. “Those are some pretty nice schools and they don’t come cheap either. Where’d you get the money? Loans? Or were you a trust fund baby? I can’t imagine scholarships carried you all the way through.  I mean, you only graduated somewhere in the top half of your class. Well, fifty percent did worse than you did and nearly fifty did better. But then again, top is tops, despite your being average at best. Psychology must be so _hard_.” The young man pressed his lips into a mock pout.

The doctor’s face remained a stony, poker face despite his wondering of how the man before him knew such things about his standing. He had never before divulged his class rank.

“You’d be surprised what Google can turn up on someone.” The man spoke again as if he were reading the doctor’s mind. “It’s okay, Doc.” He leaned over and whispered in the older man’s ear, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“We are not debating my credentials here. We are here for you and to talk about anything that has been bothering you.” The doctor laid out the ground rules. “We are going to try to remedy whatever issues that you may have. With that said, we are not going to dwell on or project any past disappoints from previous psychologists you may have had. I know that you are probably upset about being at this hospital, but please understand that the staff and I are here to help you. You have people that are looking forward to your recovery. Can I count on you to be as committed to it as we all are?”

The young man nodded and took his seat again. “You should learn how to loosen up, Doc.” He laughed. “Education is a beautiful thing, but not many people are fortunate enough to receive it. I wonder how’d Dante turn out of he had just gone to MIT instead of taking up the ‘family business.’ He got a full ride after all. Rightfully deserved, too. His IQ clocked in at around 190. The kid’s a whiz with math and physics. Back in the day, it used to get crowded in here with his complex equations and algorithms.” The young man tapped at the side head. “But, I was happy to be there, to be a genius by association. He didn’t get to join their ballistics program, but I’m sure he could still figure out the angle and trajectory of a bullet if you were sniped right now. He’d know if it came from a rooftop or a window and which one it came from. Since I kept your secret, I think he’d appreciate it if you said nothing about this to the girls. I think he’s found his niche pretending to be some loveable idiot.”

“Aren’t I talking to Dante?” Rhinefeld asked, wondering why there was a sudden shift in how Dante referred to himself.

The young man chuckled. “He’s not here with us, Doc. No está aquí. You haven’t been talking to him for the last few sessions.”

“So, Anthony Redgrave then?” Dr. Rhinefeld was familiar with the name. A name the young man’s close friends had tossed around in a therapy session that excluded his patient; a name that his patient’s ex-girlfriend claimed to have belonged to an alternate identity. The doctor was not convinced. People didn’t just randomly have other personalities. There had to be other psychological forces at play.

 

 A few of his colleagues would call it some kind of multiple personality disorder. He didn’t believe in a quick-fix diagnosis. To him, blaming delusions on a personality disorder was akin to buying into the whole depression phenomenon. Every teenager who had disagreements with his or her parents couldn’t all be clinically depressed. By extension, that meant that every unhappy employee was also victim to similar circumstances. The whole thing translated to a macrocosm where at least eighty percent of a country’s population can consider themselves depressed. That was too convenient. He believed that mood enhancers were doled out far too liberally by his colleagues. He was from an older school of thought where every one of life’s problems couldn't be erased by a pill. He had to make sure to study the young man across from him. Rhinefeld owed him a proper diagnosis.   

 

“You sound disappointed. Is my company not good enough for you? Do I not entertain? Everyone wants to see and only hear _him_. Never mind me! I prefer Tony by the way.”

The older man absently scratched his graying beard. “No. Not disappointed. Don’t you think that Dante could benefit from therapy if he was here?”

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Doc. This isn’t couple’s therapy and you can’t have us both here at the same time. But, I’ll be sure to relay your messages to him after screening them, of course.”

“Why not give him the whole message? It’s not like I have used any vulgar language around him or you for that matter.”

“It’s all about the content, Dr. Rhinefeld. He’s fragile and if he were stronger, he would have never gotten into this situation. He would have never been a sack of uselessness with a gun to his head. His friends wouldn’t have needed to come to you for help. I have been in him since he was about eight or nine, it’s true, but I didn’t have to start taking over the reins until he was almost twelve. Keeping a half-demon in check is no easy task.”

“Half-demon?”

“Yes. You heard me.” Tony raked a hand through his shaggy, platinum-blond hair. “I’d wish Dante would cut this shit, maybe dye it. Maybe he enjoys the attention it brings him, not that he has to try hard to be a chick magnet. Oddly enough, he hates fielding questions about something as simple as his hair. Maybe it’s because he’s not sure why. Honestly, it could be anything from his lineage, a genetic abnormality, or some psychological trauma that sent him on his way to early graying. I highly doubt the trauma thing, because the same thing happened to his brother and they were still babies when the changes began.  Whatever the reason, he both revels and reviles the attention it brings him, yet he won’t lift a finger to buy some Clairol from the drug store.” He laughed. “I share rent inside his head and even I can’t figure him out. His hair wasn’t always this color, you know. He started off a brunette or probably had black hair. It started changing strand by strand. It was unnoticeable at first, but then one day, he woke up with a head full of white hair.”

The older man straightened himself in his chair. “You’ve completely changed the subject. What does this have to do with the ‘half-demon’ you mentioned earlier? Tony, do you believe that you are a ‘half-demon’.”

Tony gave a smirk and sat forward on the edge of the couch. “What’s the point in spelling it out for you? Like I said before, you don’t believe in this. Not in demons and certainly not in DID.” Tony’s smirked widened. “To answer your question: Am I a half-demon? …Yes and no. Let’s say that I am by association.”

“Demons are not real and Dissociative Identity Disorder is exceedingly rare, if it occurs at all. Both scenarios are easily misdiagnosed schizophrenia. Demons were the names given to previously unexplained mental illnesses. Demons and DID.  It seems you are mixing your reality with fantasy, Mr. Redgrave. Both of these things are plot points in movies and literature, not widely accredited findings in medical and psychological journals. ” He scoffed under his breath, “DID… We’ll go with it, for now.”

“The point of therapy is to let the crazies talk out their problems, not argue with them, dear doctor. I will say while you discredit the existence of demons, they believe in you. Have you ever been alone somewhere, alone where it is not entirely well-lit and you swear you saw a shadow move out of the corner of your eye? You turn to look and nothing is there.”

Rhinefeld pictured himself having been in his office parking garage two days ago. As Tony had described he had seen a shadow move and turned fully to see nothing.

“Yes. But you have described is nothing but a trick of the eye coupled with fatigue.” The doctor shrugged off Tony’s point.

“Most demons are jealous of humans and it’s kinda why they are so spiteful. They normally only play with humans, lurking and laughing at your expense. Others prey on one’s emotions, which gets someone riled up enough to harm themselves or someone else. At least the most cunning do that. The brazen ones like to hunt humans for sport, to eat or eviscerate them because they can. There are some ‘good’ ones out there. They’re demons that settle in the human world and try to fit in. They face each day with human masks or shift into something else. You’d probably see them on the subway and never know that they are what they are. They work, eat, and live like you and I.”

“Oh?” Rhinefeld placed his elbow on an armrest and balanced his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“Take Sparda for example.”

“You mean the children’s fairytale?”

“Exactly. Though, I don’t think Dante will appreciate you calling his family history a fairytale.” Tony sank back into his seat, inspecting his nails with a bored expression.  “Then again, he really wouldn’t want me spilling the beans. There’s a reason why everyone thinks Sparda is a myth. ”

“Sparda is an old legend. Are you really trying to tell me that Dante is related to Sparda?”

“Dante Sparda. Hence the last name, old man. It’s not fair to say that he’s just related. There’s something more there.”

“Like what?”

“Think about the story. A dark, demon knight tramples all over mankind, but begins to pity the humans. He turns on his kind and seals them and his powers in the Underworld. He lived among the humans until he disappeared into obscurity. His story evolved into a myth, but most people don’t know that he married a human woman who bore him twin sons Vergil and –”

“Dante,” Rhinefeld supplied.

“Bingo. Bouncing baby half-demon brats. I knew you were paying attention, Doc.” Another smirk graced Tony’s lips.

Rhinefeld shook his head. “You must be confused. Virgil and Dante are characters in Dante Alighieri’s _Divine Comedy_.”

Tony shrugged. “Hey, I never did say that their parents were being original in the naming department. Maybe they were fans of the classics. It is all a matter of coincidence.”

“The story also says that Sparda saved the world over 2,000 years ago. By your logic, his sons would be hundreds of years old, if not a couple of millennia. The Dante I met isn’t much over thirty.”

“Again with your assumptions. I didn’t say that he got some woman knocked up immediately after sealing away the demons. I said that he settled and laid low. He found his mate, Eva, some thirty years ago and died shortly after their children were born. His wife died in a demon attack when their children were about seven. Poor little Dante witnessed the whole thing. He watched sweet little Eva torn limb from limb. A whole neighborhood heard the screams and did nothing to help. Not even a call to the police department. Dante’s twin was snatched up by demons, spirited away and feared dead. He wandered around town; shell shocked for three days until someone picked him up and sent him to an orphanage. After the orphanage, was the foster system where he faced nothing but abuse until he ended up on the streets again. Not long after, he became a mercenary, a child-soldier. Dante was all alone in the world. But I helped him through it. I took on the burden, helping him to forget.”

“Tony, you are smart enough to know that forcing Dante to repress memories is not healthy,” Dr. Rhinefeld said.

“Like I said, he’s fragile and he doesn’t need that shit in his life right now. Remember that demon I told you about? It knows what Dante knows, so I partition information as best as I can. If Dante knew _everything_ , how would I hold it back? His demon is already an asshole. Its self-preservation instincts are among the only reasons Dante is still alive. It takes over whenever it pleases, while Dante and I have a mutual agreement. I, at least, asked for permission. It belittles him when he chooses not to mow down some human caught in the middle of a battle. It chips away at his humanity and even sanity when it rears its head. Still, we tolerate it because it means survival for the both of us. I can explain it all until I’m blue in the face, but you are a man of science. Nothing is real to you without empirical evidence. Even then, I’m sure that you’d explain it all away.”

Tony was again on his feet, this time making his way to Rhinefeld’s desk. There was a pause before he settled himself, leaning against the desk.

“How does one prove that demons, in fact, exist?” Rhinefeld said. He looked over his shoulder, watching the young man make his way to his desk.

“Short of holding you down as bait, until they show up? There’s nothing I can do. Besides, Dante would find that morally reprehensible. He would never let that fly, nor would he forgive himself if something like that ever happened to a human. But I guess I could prove that Dante’s a half-demon,” Tony said.

“Oh?” Rhinefeld arched an eyebrow, standing to fully face the young man.

 “Why don’t we start with the medications and sedatives? They have had little, if any effect on Dante. All you or your staff has managed to do is make him a little tipsy.”

“Either the drugs were administered incorrectly… too little of a dosage. Or perhaps Dante has built a tolerance for the medication. This is more prevalent in individuals who have been addicted to drugs,” the doctor mused aloud.

Tony crossed his arms, annoyance playing on his boyish face. “Sure, Dante dabbled in pot and maybe some E back when he was a teenager, but he’s squeaky clean now. He knows doing that stuff in the field will get him killed. He’s crazy, Doc, not stupid.” There was another pause before Tony spoke again.

“I could say that Dante has an unearthly ability to consume junk food nonstop without gaining an ounce. Though, I’m sure you’d chalk that up to a fast metabolism. Summoning a demon to this office is out of the question. I’m not too keen on killing it or cleaning that shit up. But—” Tony trailed off as he eyed the doctor’s desktop. “The simplest things are always front and center.” He reached onto the doctor’s desk and picked up a letter opener.

Tony tapped a finger on the point, testing the sharpness. The older man seethed and made a move to stop the younger man before he hurt himself. Tony promptly held the small knife to his own throat. “It may be dull, but I can still cut myself before you can clear that gap. I suggest you back up.”

The doctor obeyed, fearing the worst and kicking himself for having left the knife out.

Tony relaxed and brought the letter opener away from his neck. He explained, “Dante has this accelerated healing thing going for him, which is probably why he can metabolize the food, drugs, and alcohol faster than any normal person. He can heal rather quickly from normal injuries, while the more serious stuff takes longer.”

“Are you claiming that Dante is an immortal?”

“Hardly. Nothing lasts forever. He’s a little harder to kill is what I’m getting at. However, if someone really tried and knew exactly what to do, Dante would be just as vulnerable as any regular human being. On the same token, if he was injured badly enough, he’d die. He could bleed out, but not as quickly a normal person. I could demonstrate if you could be so kind as to shut off your tape recorder.”

Rhinefeld balked at the request. He couldn’t let his patient harm himself. He began to talk Tony down and said the first thing that came to mind. “I can’t. I need to have all sessions recorded for review and for legal reasons.”

“Hmm. And here I thought that you wanted someone to open up to you. I am giving you a chance. You need only to turn that off. ” Tony pointed to the recorder that sat between the couch and office chair. “Trust me, you’ll never forget what I’m about to show you.”

Rhinefeld had never before faced such a dilemma. On the one hand, this was the beginning of the breakthrough he craved for his patient. He had earned enough trust that allowed for some information to be divulged, but he needed to know more. However, this gave his patient more leeway to do something radical. There was the very real chance that Tony would attempt suicide right in front of him. Then there was curiosity. He had to see and know what made this young man tick. They had come so far in these sessions; why not go a little farther? He weighed his options. _A once in a lifetime chance,_ he thought.  Perhaps in a moment of weakness, Rhinefeld did the unthinkable and allowed his curiosity to trump his professionalism as a therapist. He hesitated, but eventually did as he was told.

Tony spoke again, “Also, it would be great if you didn’t mention this to any of your staffers or any students or interns you may take on. What goes on in this room, stays in this room.”

There was a long pause, but the old man nodded in agreement.

Tony took a deep breath and grasped the knife in his right hand. “This is going to hurt like a mother,” the young man muttered.

He allowed Rhinefeld to move closer for a better view. He held out his left hand and sent the letter opener through it. He dug in, twisting the blade to make the wound visible. Tony did all he could to keep himself from crying out in pain. It was the old man who didn’t fare as well. He nearly vomited and passed out all at once at the sight of the blood.

“Oh, my God,” Rhinefeld shouted. He scrambled about his office looking for tissues or anything he could use to staunch the bleeding. He could have kicked himself for allowing a patient to do this.

“Dr. Rhinefeld, it’s okay,” Tony said.

“What do mean it’s okay?! That’s definitely _not_ okay?!”

“Hey, Doc, willya stop for a sec and look?”

Rhinefeld slowed down long enough to see Tony withdraw the knife. He gagged at seeing the burgundy and green carpet through the young man’s hand. Then something happened. The wound repaired itself before the doctor’s fascinated eyes. The doctor reached out and grasped Tony’s hand. He stared into the wound to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He watched as nerves and blood vessels stitched themselves back together, then as the muscle fibers and skin latched onto their adjacent counterparts and knitted themselves closed. Hesitant at first, the doctor probed where the wound used to be with a finger and felt no scar. He sat back in his chair, awestruck.

“Enjoy the show,” Tony asked, clenching and unclenching his hand.

The doctor made no response.

“Good, because I won’t be doing that again.”

 The doctor quietly reevaluated the validity of DID and vowed that he would not doubt whatever else Tony had to say.

“You can turn the recorder back on.”

“Huh? Oh. Right. Yes. ”

The recorder was on again and Tony took his seat as well.

“The point is that Dante is half-demon, but he makes it his business to hunt down and kill the things that destroyed his family,” Tony continued, breaking yet another long pause.

 “He identifies more with his human side and developed a strong sense of duty in relationship to his mother’s death and his brother’s disappearance, taking up his father’s mantle,” the old man surmised.

The young man nodded. “Something like that. Dr. Rhinefeld?”

“Yes, Tony?”

Tony gave a faint smile that faded and contorted into a solemn expression, something Rhinefeld hadn’t seen at all during the current session. He was somewhat taken aback by it.

“What is it, Tony?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten Dante so twisted. I mean, sure he’s been depressed before… who wouldn’t be if they lived his life? He had been ‘suicidal’ even, but he realized the pointlessness of it. That or I’ve talked him down. But the other week was scary. I had never heard every last thought screaming the same thing before. It was just a cacophony, of ‘end it all’ over and over again. He drank until he couldn’t see straight. He got the gun and— there was no talking him down this time. I think he tuned me out. That was the first time I ever thought, _if he kills himself, then he takes me with him_. I had never feared for my life before like that night. I had never prayed before, but suddenly I was practically on my knees appealing to every deity. I was praying that someone would come along and save him.”

“I can’t imagine the suffering you both had gone through, but you must know that suicide is never the answer.” Doctor Rhinefeld’s expression matched the young man’s. “I am glad that you are here today, speaking with me.”

“Tell him that. I can still hear him milling around up here.” Tony tapped his head again. “Right now, he’s wondering if you’ve got aspirin in your desk drawer. He hopes that there’s enough in there to finish him off. It’s tiring dealing with these thoughts. It’s tiring discerning his thoughts from my own. Sometimes I wonder where I end and he begins. There’s too much noise and those emotions carry over. I feel them and then I start to believe them. I’d reach for a knife, and then I’d have to tell myself to stop. I have to remind myself that I’m not him. Scary, yeah?”

“How have you been holding everything together?”

“A wing and a prayer, if you would pardon the cliché.” A bitter chuckle escaped Tony’s mouth. “It’s like pulling teeth, but I remind him that there are others that depend on him, that he has business partners… and Patty.”

“Patty? The little blonde I saw just before the last session?”

“Yep. That would be her. She’s an orphan who sort of fell into Dante’s care. Some greedy, rich people got her caught up in some assassination plot because she has the same name as some long-lost heiress. The poor girl was almost killed until Dante stepped in to save her. The softie. I had always said that he had a soft spot for children, especially orphans. He grew to be something like a big brother, mainly because he claims he could never handle being someone’s parent. They’ve been together ever since then.”

“He’s considered leaving a child in the balance?”

Tony nodded. “He planned everything to a ‘T’. He put together a safety deposit box for her downtown. He reasoned that his friends and associates would take care of her and he left enough money to take care her financially.”

“Did he not know the ramifications of leaving an orphaned child alone? She’s already lost her parents and Dante’s death would have meant that yet another caregiver gone.” Rhinefeld was understandably disturbed by what Tony had told him. He decided that he needed to talk to Dante for himself. But talk was something Dante refused to do.  The doctor could attest to the man’s stubbornness. It took nearly three sessions before he finally said something other than two monosyllabic words to the doctor.

“He knew. It was rather unfortunate that she was the one who walked in on him holding a gun to his head. He wanted to die so badly. I could feel it boiling inside. He calmly told Patty to turn around, cover her ears, and walk away. She refused and screamed for help. It took three of his partners, Lady, Trish, and Morrison to wrestle him to the ground. He managed to bring the barrel to his temple and pull the trigger anyway.” Tony gave a mirthless laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“No. Not funny. More… ironic. The bullet jammed in the chamber. A misfire, despite that he cleaned his gun the night before. He laughed and tried to scramble for another weapon. The last thing I remember is seeing Morrison’s fist flying right at me. The little chicken-shit switched out at the last second. I woke up later, dressed in white scrubs and strapped to a gurney. A nurse happened along, took my vitals and told me that I was at Saint Andrew’s Psychiatric Hospital under a thirty-day involuntary hold. And then here we are. Honestly, that was the best thing anyone could have done for either of us. But something tells me that Dante doesn’t feel the same way. Obviously, there’d be some betrayal among other emotions, which are not something he lets out on a regular basis. Emotions are something Dante bottles up and hides behind jokes and sarcastic remarks.”

The doctor fidgeted in his seat for a moment, unsure of what recourse to take.

“I know, I know. It all comes down to defensive mechanisms. I guess my spilling my guts here is a cry for help. He used to be so easy. I don’t know what I am dealing with anymore. I am seriously at my wit’s end. I’d ask for a handful of happy pills and be on my merry little way. But what would that help? Maybe he’s too far gone and I was too stupid to see it before to do anything about it.”

“Would it work?” the doctor asked. “I would prescribe something for the depression and anxiety, but it may prove ineffective. Ultimately, there is nothing I can do if Dante chooses not to speak for himself.”

Tony sat back into the couch with limbs relaxed as if he were a marionette that had its strings cut. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Are you okay, Tony?”

“Seems like you’ll get your wish sooner than later, Doc.” Tony’s voice was thick with exhaustion. His head lolled to the left and his breathing became slow and even, as if he had simply gone to sleep during the session.

“Tony?”

The doctor cautiously approached the young man on the sofa. He put a hand on his shoulder and shook him, attempting to rouse the young man.

“Tony,” Rhinefeld repeated.

The young man’s eyes flew open, revealing a pair of cold cobalts staring back at the doctor. He righted himself on his perch.

Rhinefeld sensed a change in the young man. Those eyes were the same but there was something different there, something that had not been there during the previous conversation. Those eyes were as frigid as ice cubes. Those eyes peered at him as if they were lancing his soul, as if they knew his inner thoughts. Tony was another being, another entity. Before him was another person inhabiting the same body that he spent the last half hour speaking to. Who was this man? Where had Tony gone?

He knew that this person was someone else.

“Tony?” He cringed, testing the waters. He wanted to see a reaction, but he also almost dreaded what it would be.

The young man shrugged off the doctor’s hand. “Tony, Doc? No. Not by a long shot.” He finally spoke with his voice in a deeper baritone than Tony’s.


	2. Part II

Part II

Rhinefeld prayed that he wasn't speaking to the demon Tony had described. For the sake of his of sanity, he hoped that Dante was the one who had emerged.

"Dante, I presume," the doctor said.

The young man nodded slowly, taking his time to recover from the transition. When he did, Dante lounged on the couch in a manner similar to Tony. He seemed as carefree as his other personality, but there was a seriousness to him that Rhinefeld would never associate with Tony. The doctor realized that he had very little interaction with this Dante and briefly wondered if he would reach a breakthrough as he did with Tony. But a part of him could already tell that this conversation was not going to be remotely similar as he had with the man he warmed up to just minutes earlier.

Those icy eyes seemed so cold and stern. They betrayed an age older than the man's physical body, the years calculated in having seen and known too much in such a short amount of time. Despite the severe expression on Dante's face, the doctor could tell that Dante could be a lighthearted person if placed in different circumstances.

"You rang?" he asked in a droll tone. "I hear that Tony decided to give my _entire_ life story. That little rat. I'll have to deal with him later."

The doctor straightened in his chair, attempting to mask his trepidation. "Yes. Tony spoke up, because he was concerned for yours and his safety. Like your friends and business partners, he asked for help. I commend him for his bravery and honesty."

"I'll be sure to relay the message," Dante coldly replied.

"I'm sure that you probably already know what has been said when Tony and I spoke." Rhinefeld wasn't sure if the statement he made was true, but still tested its validity. He wanted know the extent of the coexistence between the two personalities. Was there a complete partitioning between the two? Did they have to relay information as it is received? Dante had already conveyed contradictory details. The doctor wondered if this was purposeful misdirection or if Dante was blowing smoke because he wasn't sure of everything himself.

Dante shrugged and gave an uninterested glance out of a window. "Maybe."

"I thought that we were past this, Dante. Do you remember the last time we spoke? You talked about turning over a new leaf. You said that you would try to become more open during our sessions."

"Eh." The young man made a noncommittal hum and then lied. "Must've been Tony."

The doctor could sense the lie Dante told. "We also discussed being truthful," Rhinefeld said. "Let's try again. Do you experience anything while Tony is interacting with the world?"

Dante paused, studying the old man. Rhinefeld's brows creased in apparent frustration and his neatly folded hands trembled lightly in his lap. Dante could tell that the anticipation was killing the doctor. The old man was trying to remain patient, but both he and the young man knew that it was a losing battle. Dante was sure that the desire for knowledge will eat Dr. Rhinefeld up one day and leave him drooling in a strait jacket.

"Your problem is that you want to know too much. If I were to tell, then you will only hunger for more. It'll never end. You're nothing but a glutton. Why can't you just be satisfied with what you know now," Dante said. "One day, that desire will leave you empty and bitter. It will destroy you."

The doctor was a little taken aback at how his patient had turned everything on him. Sure he wanted to help his young patient, but Rhinefeld also realized the faults Dante laid out about him. He _did_ thirst for more knowledge and he was also vain in that aspect. He couldn't count how many times the very idea of publishing his findings in some peer-reviewed journal and the recognition it would bring had danced in his mind. How could the young man have read him so well?

But, the boy's grief washed the passion out of his statements. The sadness in Dante's voice wasn't lost on Rhinefeld.

"You sound as if you are speaking from experience. Does this have to do with the losses you have suffered? Is this directed to your family?"

The answer would have been yes, if Dante had been more forthcoming; more free to explain that he had known all too well of how a person's thirst for knowledge could lead to his destruction. Why couldn't people remain in blissful ignorance?

There was a sudden, burning ache in Dante's chest. His eyes burned, threatening tears. His unflappable façade was crumbling. Dante stood from the couch and raked a hand through his hair, regaining his composure. "I'm leaving." His tone was low and even. The young man walked toward the office door. Just as he brought a hand to the knob, there was firm grip on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly. "Let go. I'm sure that you would like to keep that hand."

"No," Rhinefeld said firmly. "It doesn't take a blind man to see that the mere mention of your family dredges up emotions that you would rather keep buried. You shouldn't have to walk around, shackled with that kind pain. If you have something to get off your chest, then say it. I'm here to listen and we have all the time in the world as far as I'm concerned. Trust me, if you sit and talk about it, you'll feel better."

Dante paused again, as if he was considering the doctor's proposal. He twisted the knob, the lock clicking open as he did.

"Wait," Rhinefeld said, trying to stop the young man again. "We don't have talk about them. What about yourself or your friends? Tell me about Patty."

"Patty?" Dante's grip loosened on the doorknob.

"Tony told me a little bit about her. He said that you're like her big brother. I'm sure that you take great care of her. I know that because of the special provisions he said you made for her. She's still a ward of the state. Have you considered adopting her?"

Dante's hand dropped to his side. "Yeah. I _did_ adopt her. I guess I'm not her brother anymore. That makes me her… f-father. Wow. That still sounds so strange to say that."

"Tony didn't mention anything about adoption."

"Probably because he doesn't know."

"You keep secrets from him?" Rhinefeld asked.

"Yeah. Wouldn't you? I knew he would just blab everything one of these days. Besides, he probably keeps things from me too. It's best that he stays out of it for now."

"For now?" Rhinefeld led Dante back into the seating area. The two sat down, Dante again on the couch and Rinefeld in his leather swivel chair. "What do you mean by that?"

"I have plans for Tony, something I'm sure that he'll rise to do."

"Does this have to do with your latest suicide attempt? It sounds like you are going to use Tony to continue raising Patty."

A wry smirk crossed his features. "Can't get nothin' past you, Doc. I adopted her so that I could make sure that she was well taken care of if something were to happen to me. Patty's birth mother recently tracked her down and wanted her back. I resisted at first, but then I realized that this woman could give her daughter the stability that I couldn't. So, I contacted a lawyer and we set up some final plans. I didn't need to be in the picture anymore. She had her mother back and my only concern was taking care of Patty. She's still legally my kid. With the money I set aside and insurance policies, she'd get enough to go to any school she chose and a place to call her own."

"It must have been traumatizing knowing the prospect of losing Patty. There are certainly parallels that could be drawn between her and your family."

"I thought that we were keeping them out of this." Dante crossed his arms in attempt to hide his growing anger. "They have nothing to do with this."

"We don't have to talk about your family now, but we will have to come back to that subject eventually. Don't deny that your experiences with them have shaped the way you guard your emotions. You mentioned that you couldn't provide Patty with any stability, what do you mean by that?"

"You should already the answer to that or at least know what I will answer. Don't play stupid." A smirk tugged at Dante's lips.

"Humor me," Rhinefeld said, smiling.

"Despite the agreement, Tony comes out when I least expect him. His job is to boost me when I'm feeling low, but it's getting harder to predict these mood changes. The last thing Patty needs is for me to go flying off the handle. I don't want to scare her anymore than I have."

"You've scared her in the past?"

Dante broke eye contact and chose to stare at the floor, collecting his thoughts. "She saw my de— the other me."

"Your demon," Rhinefeld supplied.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that Tony would mention that? Well, it does make things a little easier to say now," Dante said. He paused and brought his eyes up to meet Dr. Rhinefeld's again. "I was called out to a job. Some demons were snatching up children around Domino City. I tracked them to the train yards and the demons all came out the woodwork. They came at me in droves. It wasn't easy, but I managed to beat them back. I searched the train yards for the kids, but ended up only sniffing out their bodies."

Dr. Rhinefeld shifted in his seat, straightening himself. Dante once again collected his thoughts and continued. "I called the bodies into Domino's Finest and headed back home. Before I got there, I got this feeling that Patty needed help. I raced back and found some demons closing in on her. There was only a few of them, but fighting them was hard. I don't know, maybe I was still tired from that fight in Domino. Before I knew it, they were getting the best of me. It felt like my body was shutting down on me, like that was the end. I thought I was going to die. But, no. That would have been too easy and the other me is not into giving me breaks."

"The demon?"

"Yeah. Sucks knowing that I can't just die peacefully. The demon would never allow it. It took over, beating the demons into a pulp and then when it was done, it turned onto Patty." Dante's hands began to shake. "It used my body to attack her. Normally, I can come back after a battle, but I couldn't rein it in this time." He squeezed his eyes shut. "She must have been so scared."

"And then what happened?"

"I had her in my grasp, about to choke the life out of her then, I blacked out. When I woke up, Trish told me that she had to knock me out and Patty was going to be staying with Lady for a few days. I visited her about a week later and she flinched when I tried to hug her. That was it for me. I couldn't— can't put her through that again. I mean, who's to say that it won't happen again. So, I drank. Enough to kill a few grown men. It should have been enough to completely tax my demon's ability to heal me. The persistant bastard. Then, I cleaned Ivory, one of my handguns and here we are."

"Patty saw you try to—" Dr. Rhinefeld trailed off.

"Yeah. But it had to be done. I posed too much of a danger to her. I love her too much to let her get hurt."

"So, how does Tony fall into your plans? If you were going to end your life, then why include him?"

"I deal in contingencies. I figured that if I somehow didn't die, I could hand control over to Tony." Rhinefeld said nothing and Dante continued, "He's good with Patty, better at controlling the other me, and he can do a spot on impression of me. Most times, they can't tell if they're speaking to me or him."

Dr. Rhinefeld took off his glasses, cleaned them, and replaced them on his face. "How old is Patty, if you don't mind me asking?"

Dante thought that it was an odd question, but still decided to provide an answer. "She'll be ten by the end of May."

"Nine. Still rather young. I'd imagine that it would be hard to break the news to her if you had died. How would anyone go about doing it?"

The two sat in silence for moment before Rhinefeld added, "This isn't a rhetorical question. I want you to think about that hypothetical scenario; how would you let a young child know that his or her loved one has passed away?"

"I'd soften the blow by saying they went to be with angels or something. But, if you're getting at me, I have written letters to her that are all stored in a safety deposit along with other final wishes and money. Lady has a key to it and Trish knows where I keep my copy in case something happened. Then again, I have Tony. He knew that I set aside some money and other things, but he doesn't know for what. Where he concerns Patty, she doesn't have to know anything until she's older. He knows her and has been with her as long as I have. He sees through my eyes and I through his most times."

"You both can work in tandem, it seems."

"Well, yes and no. Sometimes one of us sleeps and wakes up with an idea that something's going on. But, generally, one has control of the body, while the other observes and makes little internal comments. The other normally can't physically interfere, unless the one in control relinquishes the body. There was one night when Tony was attacked by a demon and let go real quick, because he knew he was a terrible swordsman. We can both experience the same situation, but one of us just has no say in it."

"Aren't you afraid to letting the cat out of the bag? You were saying that you didn't want Tony to know about his inclusion in Patty's care. Why not tell him?"

Dante chuckled. "Tony spent too much time in control. Right now, he's dead to the world. Consider him asleep for the time being. There's a reason why he doesn't need to know about the adoption or anything else. If something is sprung up on him at the last minute, he'll do it no questions asked. On the flipside, if he is given time to think about it, the least likely he is to do it. He's a strange dude."

"So, you take advantage of his thought processes?"

"Yeah. Something like that." Dante sat back into the couch. "Say, Doc, I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"What's everyone up to? I mean, I took a three-day vacation and now my wing man is KOed. Can you fill in some blanks?"

"I'm sorry, Dante, but I can't speak about your coworker's joint session with you."

"What about Tony?"

Rhinefeld chuckled, "He had quite a lot to say, in fact."

"Nothing good, I bet." Dante rolled his eyes.

"As I said before, he was mostly concerned about you. He told me that that you were slated to attend MIT. What happened to that?"

Dante threw his head back and laughed. "I was a dumb kid. I should've known that college would be out of the question. When I came into my own power, I had to start controlling the demon population like my old man had before me." His expression became somber. "Trouble always follows me. It looms overhead like some dark cloud since the day I was born."

Rhinefeld questioned, "How so?"

"Here we go. I might as well get it out the way now, before you ask me again." Dante took a deep breath and continued, "My father disappeared not long after my brother, Vergil and I were born. He went to seal away some straggling demons and never came back. He probably died. But when he was gone, he left us unprotected. When we were seven, demons attacked us, kidnapping Vergil and killing my mother. After the countless orphanages, foster homes, and my brief stint as a gun-for-hire, I decided to dedicate my life to killing demons. I figured that if I kept going, then maybe I'll find the one's responsible for my mother's murder."

"Did you?" Rhinefeld asked.

"I did, eventually. But not before running into my brother. We were sixteen when we first met again. He was consumed with gaining more knowledge and in turn, more power. He kept saying that if were just stronger, he could have protected Mom. I tried to assure him that we wouldn't have been able to do anything; we were only a couple of first graders back then. We were fortunate enough to come out it with our lives. But, there was no reasoning with him. We went our separate ways until he raised an unholy temple called Temen-Ni-Gru. He was hoping to embody our father's powers."

"Your brother was responsible for that mysterious tower popping out of the ground in Capulet City? And the experts were saying that trapped gas pockets pushed up ancient rock formations." Rhinefeld shook his at head his naïveté for believing in such an explanation.

Dante continued, "Vergil and I fought. He was still obsessed with power and thought that plunging the world into chaos would rectify it. I don't think that he thought of me as a sibling anymore when I refused to join his insane cause. By the end of it all, I thought that I had killed him. He was badly wounded and he fell into Hell. I didn't think that he stood a chance. By the time we were twenty-one, Vergil attacked me, this time under the control of the demon that ordered the death of our mother. I didn't recognize him until it was too late. I had run him through with my sword before I realized who he was. I gave him a fatal blow and my twin was gone."

And there was a parallel that Dante was drawing between his brother and the doctor. He was equating the doctor's need for knowledge to Vergil's desire for power.

Dr. Rhinefeld studied Dante's face. His eyes were distant, as if he was lost in the memories playing before them. Tears welled up in them. The doctor offered the young man some tissues, which he declined.

"Naw, I'm good." Dante wiped them away with the backs of his hands.

"I can't imagine having to go through with the act of killing a sibling… twice. It must have been hard speaking to me about it. Thank you for sharing that with me." Rhinefeld softened his voice.

"I had to do it. Other lives were left in the balance. What he did was tantamount to holding a gun to someone's head. What was I supposed to do? Just wait for him to pull the trigger? I acted and it got him killed. That's the end of it. I'm always being told that I shouldn't beat myself up for his death, but why is this guilt so heavy? Why do I feel like I committed the most egregious sin? Why is it so hard to look into a mirror and not see him?"

"Dante, these are all questions that only you can answer. Or perhaps, they have no answers. The better thing to do here is to live on, despite the circumstances."

"He would— We would be thirty-four next week." Dante choked back a sob as he gazed out the window again.

"Dante, take a deep breath in and hold it." The young man obeyed. "We are letting go of all of that negativity. Now, let it out slowly."

He exhaled.

"Good. When you are ready, we can move on to your business partners."

Dante took a few more deep breaths. In and out, allowing the tears to dry in the ducts. Then he tiredly said, "What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with Lady. How did you meet her?"

"In Temen-Ni-Gru. Her father was looking to make a deal with a demon for power and teamed up my brother. He wasn't just looking any power. He wanted Sparda's and he was willing to use Vergil's and my blood to undo the seals. Lady was looking for revenge because her father murdered her mother. I decided that I'd help out some. I saw a little bit of me in her. We opened a little business together and we've good friends since. She became my girlfriend for a little while, but it didn't work out because I am half of what we kill on a daily basis. I just wish that she'd gotten past that, but I'm not mad."

Rhinefeld nodded, listening on. "How about Trish and Morrison?"

"Trish was sent to kill me, but she realized that she liked me more her orders. Morrison was recommended by an old information broker. He brings in work sometimes, other times I have to look for it myself. I keep him around to fix things that get trashed in my office."

"It seems like you have a rather impressive support network. But you are willing to throw it all away. For what? From what I gather having met them all, they love you and show you more care than most people see from their biological families."

"All the more reason to disappear before I can hurt them. They are a great surrogate family. I appreciate them and I'm afraid that I may turn on them like I did to Patty. What do you do to a dog that has mauled a child? You put him to sleep, right? This is no different." Dante lounged into the couch. "Everyone's going to be happy with Tony. They'll never know the difference."

"Dante, what are you saying? Y-you're no dog. You are a human being," Rhinefeld appealed.

"No, Doc. You've got it all wrong. I'm a monster that deserves to return to the shadows. I'm an abomination that should have never been born." Dante's voice was scarily calm, a tone Rhinefeld had come to know all too well. It was the tone people used when they realized that they no longer had anything left to live for. It was the voice of someone preparing for suicide. Rhinefeld moved in, approaching his patient in some attempt at intervention.

"Think about it first, Dante. You don't want to leave Patty fatherless yet again. Can't you see you in her? But that can be changed right here and now. If you go through with this, she'll grow resentful of any familial figures, particularly males," Rhinefeld pleaded to Dante's genius, his rational side. He hoped the man's superior intellect would override his emotions. "She'll develop an idea that anyone she becomes attached to will leave her. These abandonment issues often lead to sociopathic behaviors. That's probably what happened to Vergil. He displaced blame on his father and the community that did nothing to help. He sought to punish them. He set out to take his father's powers and the lives of anyone who had the projected attributes of that community. Please, you can prevent Patty from becoming like your brother."

"No. She won't become him. Patty's got a strong will and the support system I never had growing up. You said so yourself. She's in good hands. Tony deserves to have what he never had— a body to call his own. All he has to do is pretend to be me for a little while, not a tall order. He's always said that there is little room in this head of mine. I did some research, by the way. The point of therapy sessions for DID patients are about coming to Integration; an accord between the alters, but someone has to be overwritten, like a computer program, and between the two of us, I should be the one."

"You misunderstand, Dante, Integration is not a unilateral decision. All parties involved, must agree."

"No, Doc. It's all perfectly clear to me. It was nice knowing you."

The calm was too unsettling. Rhinefeld was up and yanking his office door open to call in orderlies that had been on standby with sedatives. Within moments three men were in the office ready to inject Dante with a cocktail designed through trial and error specifically for him.

He didn't struggle, he only said, "No hard feelings, Tony." He went limp in the arms of the orderlies before the needle could pierce his skin. Dante was lifted into a waiting wheelchair.

He sat there, limp and unmoving. "Dante? Dante, speak to me," Rhinefeld said. He patted the young man's cheeks hoping to rouse him.

Soft blue eyes fluttered open once again. He looked about himself, confused, wondering how he ended up in a wheelchair. The confusion subsided, giving way to full panic. "I-I can't feel him," the young man said, eyes widening in horror.

Rhinefeld's heart sank when he realized who answered back, but he dared not show it.

"Tony? Now I need you to calm down—"

"Where is he? Where's Dante?" Tony was already taking quick, shallow breaths, hyperventilating.

"Take a deep breath. Breathe." Dr. Rhinefeld signaled the orderlies to hold Tony down in the wheelchair.

"Why can't I hear him? _Feel_ him? Talk to me. What's going?"

A lie probably would have worked to diffuse the situation, at least for the short term. Rhinefeld couldn't bring himself to lie to the obviously distraught young man. The doctor grimly spoke, "An integration of sorts. Dante allowed his personality to be overwritten by yours. Dante is—"

"Gone?" Tony stopped struggling when the realization hit him and the men let go.

"Yes. I'm so sorry."

Tony sat there with his gaze dropping to the floor, unmoving. He didn't flinch or make any other reaction when the doctor tried to gain the young man's attention. No snap or hand clap in front of the eyes brought him out of his trance.

"Dr. Rhinefeld, what should we do?" one of the orderlies asked.

"He's been through enough for the day. Just take him back to his room." The orderly obeyed.

Dr. Rhinefeld walked back to his seating area and picked up his voice recorder. He pressed stop and rewound it until he could hear himself speaking, "Dr. Alois Rhinefeld. This is session eight and day fifteen with patient, Dante—" He stopped the tape once again. He grabbed the winged back of his leather office chair, rolled it behind his desk, and sank into it. Rhinefeld pushed his hands underneath his glasses and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He sat there as the dying sunset illuminated his office in its last orange glow.

The orderly wheeled Tony into a dayroom and left him for a passing nurse.

"Hey, Baby," he said in a salacious tone.

Not far from where Tony was left, a little blonde girl in a pink dress was signing into the front desk with a brunette woman dressed in a white pants suit. A set of barred doors slid open and the pair crossed threshold with a teddy bear and balloons.

"There he is," girl pointed out, "Over by the window."

They crossed the room with the gifts. "Hey, Dante," the girl called out.

Tony lifted his head to see Patty with a mile-wide smile and arms ready to wrap him into a bear hug. He already felt guilty for what he was about to do. _Please, don't hate me_ , he thought.

"Hey, short stuff," he greeted the girl as Dante normally would, "How's school?"

"Busy. I got to come up with a good science project by the end of the month. That Jeffery Willis wins every year. I just want to beat 'em once. Just once!"

"Don't worry, you will," Tony gave a smirk.

She whipped her head into the direction of the big screen TV in the far corner of the room, in time to catch the opening credits of her favorite soap opera.

"Oh, can I please," Patty begged.

"We're not going anywhere," Lady waved the girl off.

"Thank you so much," Patty said before racing off to sit in front of the TV.

"I'll never understand that girl and her obsession with soaps. Anyways, how's it hangin', Lady?"

The brunette glared at him for a moment before speaking, "You seem off today. You okay?"

"Yeah. They got me jacked up on meds," Tony lied.

"No… it seems more like Anthony has come to play."

Tony smirked and chuckled. "How'd you know?"

"You don't have the same fire in your eyes as he does. So, where is he?"

Tony's lips bunched into a frown. "Long story. Before everything went down, Dante told me to never tell Patty, to play along until she reached a certain age and to get the safety deposit box ready."

Lady knew what the box meant. Dante was by accounts, dead. She wanted to grieve, but she had to remain tough. "Damn. He got what he wanted anyways, huh. I'll get the paperwork started and let Trish and Morrison know. What are you going to do? You can't pretend to be him forever."

He glanced over the blonde girl parked in front of the TV and smiled. "I know. I can't explain it, but I just have this strong feeling that all I want to do is to make her happy. I can keep it up for as long as she needs me to."

Lady nodded in understanding and said nothing else. She wheeled Tony to where Patty watched her program, both feigning interest with what was on television. Both sat with the girl in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II isn't late, I just forgot that I hadn't posted it. Thank you for reading.


End file.
